I live in New York, near broadway, and have since I was thirteen. New York is a scary, smoggy place. However, I like it here. Mostly, I sit and I write on my shiny, blue laptop, taking in the scene. I'm slightly more peaceful and observed then most sixteen-year-olds. I've always lived in my brother's shaddow, and now I think some people are starting to notice me more. I've never been popular, never had my five minutes of fame, but, eh, I'm still waiting.

See these are my things DO NOT TOUCH, Phinnias!

Well, this is technically Cass's blog, but I use her account. Cuz I'm lazy and hopeless with social sites. My name's Ricky. I live in New York, no where near where Cass lives. I do know Cass, tho. I'm not a hacker...ever...I wouldn't hack some twelve-year-old girl's account, I'm not evil! Jeez.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Babysitting

Last night, I was hanging around at Joey-Joe's house, texting Cass (who, by the way, informed me that she won't be coming up here to NY any time soon because she's SO busy with her friends who, like, live there. Pshaw. Stupid locals) and eating their Trader-Joe's-brand food. So Bridget pops in all oh-Ricky, and I knew that there was a problem.

See, guess what? Remember Rammundace? Bridget and Corey's adopted kid? Well, they're going out to some restaurant and then going to a hotel. So here's our conversation.

So she dumps me with her kid but she DID say later that I could take him back to our house with Joe and have a "sleepover."

Oh, yeah, a two-year-old and my everything-freak friend are some company.

So Joe went to bed within three seconds, and Ray didn't want to sleep AT ALL. So I was up late with Mr. Where's-My-Mommy yapping at me every second!

This morning was a lot better, though. I got ready for school, shipped Rammundace off to daycare, and now here I am, sitting around, just home from school. I leave for work in twenty minutes. LAME.

I'm eating peanut butter on a bagel (we're out of bread, Jay forgot to go shopping) and listening to the good ole B.o.B off of Kate's iHome. (Don't tell her.) Uh oh. Treasure's home. I'm not supposed to eat in my bedroom. I MUST COVER UP MY TRACKS!

What is Ricky's Story?

Um, Ricky's story is the story of Ricky. Ricky is a sixteen year old, red-headed, freckled, I-Work-At-Walmart, I-Live-In-New-York, My-Family-Drives-Me-Crazy, My-Girlfriend-Is-Named-Leanna, I-Have-A-Blue-Laptop boy.

Yup. That's kinda it. Before I had this message, I used to have all this inspirational stuff from, like, Chabigail books and Glee and stuff. But I've gone right off that.

Now I'm just another teenager, obsessed with So You Think You Can Dance, lazy, full of anger for my brother, and of course, aspiring writer.

Have we met?

ATTENTION! LEGAL MUMBO-JOMBO X-ING!

All of this stuff is used under copyright. I have to right to use tags such as WEBKINZ, KMG, and all my family's names. I would also like to state that CASS has the final say about what goes out and in to my mailbox, so please NO offensive comments or messages, you will be asked to evacuate the blog. Please note that, since this is not my account, other blogs are not my property and do not try to reach me through them: I will not get your message and it will most likely be deleted. Other blogs are property of Cass and I have no permission to use them without say. I want to notify this: JUST BECAUSE YOU FOLLOW THIS BLOG, THAT DOES NOT MEAN I WILL FOLLOW YOURS. I can not stress that enough.